


Like Thorns

by HannahLydia



Series: Kinktober '18 [9]
Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Incest, Kinktober, Post-Canon, Post-Coital, Scars, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 13:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahLydia/pseuds/HannahLydia
Summary: "He had more scars than she could see, she knew. Booker had them buried so deep that they were like thorns that had burrowed their way in. She couldn't reach them, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try."Written for the 'scars' prompt for Kinktober '18, but it's-- not particularly 'kinky'.





	Like Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> This was typed up fully on my mobile, so please forgive any errors! This is more light angst than smut but, _come on_ , we're talking about Booker and Elizabeth here.

 

Elizabeth's hand ghosted across the expanse of Booker's chest, fingertips weaving through the soft curls of hair there, some dark, some beginning to silver in places. She found herself counting his scars and the number soon reached a dizzying amount. Somehow it felt as if the weight of each one had come to rest squarely on her back, crushing her closer to him.

She didn't need to look behind the Doors to fathom where each wound might have come from, she thought she could tell from their colouring just how old or young they might be. The deep one arcing towards his shoulder was from Wounded Knee, the one at his side maybe from the Pinkertons or from a detective job gone wrong. _This_ one... Her finger traced the edges of it, and she frowned. _Columbia_. She mouthed it as she saw it, noting how fresh and raw the cut still looked.   
Soon she was forming the word upon every discovery of each angry-looking blemish.

A bullet wound.  
( _Columbia--_ )

A burn from a fireman's volley.  
(- _Columbia-_ )

A gash left in the wake of a Vox Populi shiv.  
(-- _Columbia..._ )

They were his battle scars, his penance. Booker had gained them in all in the pursuit of her, and so Elizabeth 'owned' them, in a sense. She supposed she owned none of them more than the initials carved into his hand.

She moved slowly down her lover's body, pressing a trail of soft, almost anguished kisses as she went. Booker's inhales - sharp and audible - followed each one.  
His teeth were grit, as if a part of him refused to let him enjoy it or become lost in his need for her.  
'This' - their togetherness - was still new for them both, and Elizabeth had come to notice how tense he was in the aftermath of love-making. It was like some higher conscience had gained back some control so that he'd regressed and slipped deep into self-loathing.

"Elizabeth..."   
There it was. The guilt was thick in his voice, marking the beginning of the we-shouldn't-be-doing-this speech.  
She wouldn't hear it. 

"Shhhh..." Elizabeth plucked up his right hand from his side and raised it, running her finger across the letters that spelt the name of the daughter he had lost, the daughter she could _never_ be if she wanted to be his.  
She turned his hand over then, touching the lines there too and the vertical scar tissue in his palm before she turned it back and pressed her lips to the initials he had cauterised into his flesh all those years ago.

Booker watched her, saying nothing, his mouth drawn into a tight, grave line.

After a moment, Elizabeth tipped her head, resting her cheek on his hand. As if coming to his senses, his fingers eventually moved to cup her face.

_Look at me,_ she willed him with her eyes, chest falling with a sigh. _Focus on me, Booker_ _. Do I look unhappy to you?_

She was warm, satisfied, satiated. Being with him brought her joy the likes of which could never be destroyed by the trauma and the pain they'd been through - not now, not after it had already beaten her once before. Rapture had been her wake-up call. She had attempted to live in a world without him but had struggled, and failed. This was their second-chance, and she intended to seize it with both hands. She wanted him to feel the same. She wanted him to _know_ he could feel the same.

Sometimes he looked at her as if it hurt him to do so, or if he was weary of her, afraid of her. Elizabeth knew it was his feelings that he was reacting to, or the taboo, but that didn't make things easier.

Now his seed was spilling from her and coating the tops of her thighs, and she moved his hand to her core, to feel where he had been only minutes before. His arm didn't twitch so much as buck, eyes flashing with lust and dismay in equal measure. 

"Hey--"  
"You _have_ to stop beating yourself up about this," She told him slowly, soothingly, encouraging his hand.  
"I don't th--" Booker false-started, tripping over his words. His eyebrows were angled low, regarding her with a darkened expression, and when he exhaled it was shortly through his nose. He looked tired all of a sudden - tired and at odds with himself. " _Elizabeth_ , this isn't--"

"-- helping?"

"We shouldn't be doing this..." He finished instead, his voice a low, regretful thrum. Somehow he'd managed to sound educative without being patronising. He wasn't angry. He was simply uttering a hard truth, trailing off into a pained whisper and deliberately averting his gaze. Catching a glimpse of his eyes as he turned, Elizabeth could have sworn that there was no colour there - that hurt had taken the life out of them.

She gave up trying to make him touch her. Instead she wanted to gather him in her arms, and hold him until his hatred of himself abated.  
" _Shouldn't we_?" She prompted, a hard yet sincere edge to her soft voice. "And why _is_ that, Booker? Because of a truth we could have so easily avoided? I'm not... beholden to anything. Least of all that,"

Even though Booker's head was turned, she could see him close his eyes. He took a deep breath and his face softened. It was as if he were taking her words in, piece by piece, and willing himself to listen to them. He _wasn't_ shutting her out.   
Leaning back into the bed and breathing evenly, when Booker's hand drifted to her thigh, Elizabeth knew she had pierced through the wall he had tried to throw up.  
Waiting a beat, trying to gauge if he was sure, she began to settle down on top of him.

Resting her head on his chest, Elizabeth listened to the steady drum of his heart. It wasn't long before her hand returned to his torso, counting the silver spirals of hair there and the marks like constellations on his skin. He had more scars than she could see, she knew. Booker had them buried so deep that they were like thorns that had burrowed their way in. She couldn't reach them, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try. She'd try until the day they could finally be at peace with themselves.

"It'll get easier..." She promised him, whispering the words into his chest as if whispering them directly to his heart. "Booker? It _has_ to,"   
While she half-expected another fight from him - maybe a ragged breath, or a morose argument as to why she was wrong and they should know better -Booker did none of those things. His hand found hers, the pad of his thumb stroking her severed pinky. He sighed as if with a shred of hope.

"... I'll hold you to that,"


End file.
